


Bloody Carnations

by morgisback



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Original Character Death(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgisback/pseuds/morgisback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Gwyneth Tibbot's life has not been one of happy homes with the patter of small feet.  Many of her days have been spent in the halls of the hospital that her father owned and ran, with as much love and admiration as he did for his only daughter.  When Mr. Tibbot took ill and disappeared into himself, it was only a matter of time before he passed on - and the hospital was left to Gwyneth.  The will was set and only a select few knew where it was kept hidden.  And when it turned up missing after a break-in, she knew exactly who did it.  The police wouldn't listen, the other doctors wouldn't heed her warnings.  The board was working against her and the people - her father's life work - and instead for themselves...and this "Templar order".  On her own and fearing the worst, she turns to a Mr. Jacob Fyre, who alone with his gang of Rooks stands against Crawford Starick and his men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss Belmont

**Author's Note:**

> This is the new first chapter. Everything will be in order from here on out. Thank you for reading!

Her father's room had become the most dreaded area in the Tibbot house, despite the immense traffic it saw.  From the doctors coming in from the hospital to see their dying friend, to distant relatives Gwyneth had never heard of before from all reaches of the world.  Even though his body was alive, his spirit and soul were dead.  Anyone who had spent longer than an hour or more with the former doctor before he caught ill could see he was long gone, swallowed deep inside himself.

Gwyn stood by the doorway to her father's room, watching as an "Aunt" Belmont made a show of sobbing incoherently by the old man's chair.  Her bright purple dress made her resemble an overly ripe plum and when accompanied by her pale skin, made it look that the fruit had started to mold.  She wasn't sure if the old woman could tell that Lucius was staring blankly at the window, whatever concentration he had left was focused on the park on the other side of the cobbled roadway.  Gwyn was more inclined to believe the woman didn't care about where Father's attention was, but her own.  The show was for her, after all.  She deeply exhaled to cover the yawn creeping up the back of her throat before crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame.

She could hear Miss Loy behind her giving an extremely agitated snort from down the stairs landing, where she was washing the stained glass windows.  The unexpected visit had interrupted their cleaning, leaving the poor old nanny to do most of it on her own.  She had turned now, away from window to look at her.  They made eye contact and Loy rolled her eyes, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.  Gwyn felt a twitch in the corners of her mouth, glad that at least one other person understood her annoyance by the intrusion on their home.

The sound of creaking wood caused Gwyn's focus to shift back to Belmont.  Now standing and using her purple glove to dust imaginary dirt off the skirt of her puffed dress, she turned away from Lucius.  Her face was red, made even redder by the amount of rouge on her cheeks.  "What a shame," The woman said, crossing the room, "What a man for the world to lose."

"Yes," Gwyn answered softly, "Quite."

"You know,"  Belmont continued, stepping past her and making her way down the hall, "I remember when your father and I were just children, playing together so many years ago."

"Did you spend a lot of time with Father?" She asked although halfheartedly, following her down the stars.

"Oh, plenty.  Especially when we were a bit older, during the summers."  Belmont explained.  Conveniently, the woman seemed oblivious to the flat tone of her host's voice.  Belmont turned and entered the drawing room on the far side of the house and made her self at home on the plush red and white checkered couch. "You know, I was the one who introduced your parents.  Your mother, God bless her soul...well, her nor your father could speak to each other without my help." 

Gwyn sat in her chair, facing the woman at an angle and just on the corner of the marble table.  She didn't quite meet the woman's eye and instead focused on smoothing out the creases of her apron.  "You remind me greatly of your parents,"  Belmont said, earning her first glance from the younger woman.  She, however, wasn't looking at her and instead the paintings on the wall with great intentions.

"I beg pardon?"

"Oh, it's nothing really,"  She said, waving her off, "Your parents were just equally quiet people.  I was making an simply observation really.  You match them in your tone, which is how a proper English woman should be if you ask me."  She paused a moment, her eyes shifting to the hallway, "Excuse me, _miss_?"

Gwyn turned to face the archway into the hall.  Miss Loy stopped, bucket and broom in hand with her grey curls a mess around her shoulders.  She didn't seem at all happy that **she** was now being interrupted in her work.  They still had plenty to get done before Gwyn left for the hospital.  The glare that was plastered on the older woman's face had effectively scared off other potential con artists looking for their fortune those past months.  However, Miss Belmont didn't seem at all effected by the look.  "Some tea, if you would."  She smiled.

Loy was taken aback for a moment, turning to look at Gwyneth with a questionable expression.  The reluctance was evident on her sharp features.  This one had some nerve.

Gwyn's own lips tightened as if she had just eaten a sour candy before giving her a sharp nod.  With a quick eye roll, Miss Loy picked the bucket of soapy water off the floor, "Oh, right away, _madam_.  I'll be sure to bring some biscuits for you as well, if that would suit your fancy."

Miss Loy had stomped off before Belmont could answer, leaving her with an open mouth.  She gave a tight smile to her host, though she wasn't sure if that was due to the attitude of the "servants" or embarrassment to be treated in such a way.  "Well, as I was saying,"  She continued, brushing off the incident, "You look more like your mother, I would think.  Especially in the eyes.  You have your father's chin though, I suspect.  Oh, the ladies would go crazy over your father's features, he was such a handsome man growing up.  I'm so glad to see he's...done well for himself."

Gwyn gave a short nod, watching the woman study the room, which was decorated modestly and centered around the large white fireplace.  Framed by two equally white archways that let out into the hall, the mantle was dawned by red candle sticks that popped out against the cream colored walls.  A few placement logs sat on the hearth for the summer and the profiles of her parents hung proudly facing each other.  The windows sat two abreast against the eastern side of the room and gave view into the garden.  Sheer white curtains hung a few inches above the white carpet and danced from the breeze coming in, giving the marble bust of Asclepius a beautiful foreground.  It was a gift from the Queen during the 20th anniversary of the hospital and Father had made sure that he got the brightest spot in the whole house.

"I love what you've done with the decorations.  Your father certainly had an eye for detail, to be sure,"  Miss Belmont spoke up, eyeing the marbled Greek god closely.  "May I ask, what is to become of the house?"

Miss Loy cleared her throat, stepping quickly into the room with a tray adorned with a tea pot, two cups, cream and sugar, and - as promised - a plate of biscuits.  She made no effort to pour the woman's cup, instead offering one to Gwyn.  She stood up straight, giving the woman a scornful look, "Your tea, madam."

Perfectly made and smelling of lemons, Gwyn nodded to Miss Loy.  "That will be all, thank you."  She lifted the cup to her lips, sipping quietly as Miss Belmont closed her open mouth again.  

Loy turned on her heels, marching out like a soldier.  Belmont turned, picking up the pot and helping herself.  She watched as the older woman poured the amber liquid almost to the brim, using the small spoon to scoop four overflowing amounts of sugar into the small cup.  She didn't bother to suppress the grimace as she stirred the drink too aggressively; Gwyn was honestly surprised she didn't see a chip fly off the cup and land on the floor.

"You never answered my question, my dear."

She stirred, tearing her attention away from the woman's hands.  Gently, she lowered her cup back onto the saucer.  "What was the question again, madam?"

Belmont smiled, "Who does the house pass to when your father...passes?"

A chill ran down the back of her throat, like she swallowed an ice cube whole.  She could feel her brow furrow in confusion, "What an odd question, ma'am."

"Please,"  She grinned, "Call me 'Auntie'.  No need for formalities among family after all."  She sipped her tea, loudly.  "I only ask, because...well, I'm concerned about you.  Why, when I heard that your father fell ill, my first thought was about you.  I said to your cousin, who I'm sure you remember, I said, 'That poor girl will have to go through all her father's affects on her own'.  And I just had to rush over as quickly as I could."

"Yes, well," Gwyn started slowly, "I assure you, I'll be able to manage."

"Oh, I have no doubt that you will and it's good to hear you say so."  As much as she hated to admit it, the woman did sound convincing in her happiness and relief.  "And I'm sure your father had a will written out."

Gwyn's bright eyes darted up to survey the woman's face.  Her eyes were focused on the tea, causing it to slosh out onto the saucer.  She made it a point to not look at the woman's face, avoiding eye contact whenever possible.  "Of course,"  She answered finally.

She didn't miss a beat, adding a nonchalant shrug for extra measure.  "You know," She said, after having another sip, "I have a very good friend who just so happens to be a solicitor.  If you like, I could have him take a look at the will.  To make sure everything is in,"  She paused, giving Gwyn another snake like smile, "Proper order."

It took every fiber in her moral being to not laugh out right.  There was no shortage of con artists who took her as a grief ridden fool, ripped of her senses and willing to have anyone - **anyone** \- take over the details.  What this woman didn't take into account was that this woman had seen her fair share of grief.  The two small graves outside in the garden were indication of that.

She kept her eyes on the woman in purple across from her.  After a moment of careful deliberation, she let out a soft sigh.  "Miss Belmont," She started, leaning across and setting her saucer and cup on the table, "As much as your feigned concern for my personal health is noted, it would most certainly prove more beneficial for you in the long run if used on another."

The look of absolute shock quickly took over the woman's face, stopping her from emptying her glass.  "I beg your pardon?"

"Please,"  She shook her head, "You didn't actually expect your facade to work, did you?  Either you mistake my allowing you to continue with your charade for so long as kindness or you think me stupid."

"My dear," Belmont sputtered, "I assure you that I would never try to fool you or put on some...some sort of act."

Gwyn raised an eyebrow, "So you think me stupid, then?"

The woman fell silent, her cheeks turning a darker shade of maroon with each passing moment.  She sat quietly, a hard glare stuck on her face.  She knew she was caught, but Gwyn wasn't sure if she was going to give it one last go.

"In any case,"  She continued with a heavy sigh, "We are not, nor have we ever, been related to the name 'Belmont'.  And I can assure you, that no one using that name or your likeness ever will.  They will not see a single shilling of my family's wealth so long as I walk this earth.  There is more that I wish to say, but as you've said, I'm a proper English lady and such things are not welcome in polite conversation."  She turned away from her, through with their conversation and called Miss Loy.

"Now see here, Miss!"  Belmont hissed, standing quickly and pointing a thin and bony finger at her.  "I have never been more insulted in my entire life!  What would your father say if he knew how you treated your poor Auntie!"

"He probably would have asked why you were still in his house,"  She answered calmly, standing up to meet her.  She fixed the skirt of her dress before folding her hands in front of her.  Her eyes were hard as she addressed the woman across from her, "Miss Belmont, do not insist on questioning my intelligence any further.  I assure you, trying my patience is the last thing you want to do.  Now, if you would kindly get out of my house.  You are no longer welcome here."

Belmont opened her mouth to argue but nothing more than inaudible squeaks and noises came.  After glancing towards Miss Loy, who stood in the door way with a questioning stare, she gave a simple huff.  "Why I never," She muttered as she tugged on her gloves.  She tore around the coffee table, causing it to shift harshly.  With a crash, both tea cups toppled over, sending their contents all over the marble and carpets.  "You will regret this!"  The woman shouted before slamming the door.

"And good riddance,"  Loy muttered under her breath. 

Gwyneth let out a sigh she hadn't been aware she was holding.  It shook her core and came with an overwhelming feint sensation.  She wasn't sure how many more cons and thieves she could take if any of them proved to be like Miss Belmont.  She rose a hand to rub her forehead, ignoring for the moment the stain on the carpets.  "I tell you,"  Loy continued, entering the room behind her, "These damn lurkers get dumber by the minute.  To think she could actually fool us with that 'distant family' bit.  I swear, you go into grieving and people think you go all nicky!"

Gwyn opened her eyes, blinking the exhaustion from them.  "Would you go about the house and take stock?"  She finally asked, reaching around and undoing the laces of her apron.  "I'll take care of this mess."

"Right you are, dear."  She said, turning and rushing off.  "I know every nook and cranny and so help me if she did..."

The small twitch in the corners of her mouth returned, for only a brief moment.  She held the white cloth in her hands for a moment, staring the broken blue glass on the ground.  She sighed, getting on her hands and knees and began to mop up what she could.  Mid-stroke, Gwyn paused.  Turning to look up at the ceiling, she pondered for a brief moment if Father had heard what happened and if he was proud of how she handled the situation.

It was only a tick of the old grandfather clock before Gwyn shook her head and resumed cleaning up the tea.


	2. Poor Old Mr. Tibbot

Lucius Tibbot didn't look right.

Gwyneth Tibbot knew her father, everything from the wrinkles around his dark eyes to the way he trimmed his beard and tied his laces.  He took care of her all on his own, brought her up to be a fine young woman.  He was her whole life, her first and only friend.  He taught her how to speak and would spend long hours sitting by the fire and teaching her how to read.  No matter how tired he was after working at the hospital, he would laugh at her eagerness to learn and pull her up into his lap.  He was always so warm and safe.  She never wanted the feeling to go away.

After her mother passed when she was too young to remember, they took care of each other with the help of a Miss Gabriella Loy, one of the best nannies in the city of London.  Even from a young age, Gwyneth's life revolved around making her father as proud of her as she was of him.  Lucius Tibbot was a man of the people, a pillar of the great city in which she grew up.  She would always stand a little straighter as they walked down the cobbled streets, hand in hand.  The gentlemen passing by would tip their hats and the women would stop and praise him on how well behaved she was for such a young girl.  Nan Loy always told her that her father had one woman after another calling upon him for tea or to catch a show. 

Nothing slowed her father down:  Not rain, nor snow, nor sickness.  He would get up the second the skies transitioned from the inky black of nighttime to the beautiful blues and purples of dawn.  He would slip into her room, press a kiss to her forehead, and wish her a good day at her studies.  Some days, on very special occasions such as Christmas or his birthday, she would get up early.  Gwyn would shine his shoes or help Nan make an early breakfast of tea and cookies.  One morning, when he was especially under the weather, she asked her father why he didn't just stay home and get some rest. 

He paused a moment, setting down his tea cup and looked at her.  The large, white mustache on his face wiggled a bit - a sure sign he was thinking.  Finally he smiled and looked at her.  He leaned forward, using his finger to motion her closer as if he was going to share a closely guarded secret.  "Well, my dear," He said, in an exaggerated whisper, "Nothing is stronger than the resolve of a Tibbot.  We see what needs to be done for the greater good of mankind and we will not rest until it is complete.  To its fullest potential only, my dear."

With that, he checked his pocket watch, gave her a pat on the head and well wishes for their days before leaving out the back door. 

The Tibbot Family Resolve.  If anyone had asked Gwyn how she kept going after all those years, it would be her answer.  Her late husband, George, would often comment that he was sure she worked in her sleep.  She smiled, "You sleep heavily enough, dear husband.  I'm certain I do."

It was especially hard after the children perished to small pox and measles before seeing their second birthday.  It ruined George, seeing his sons laying in those boxes.  It was often Gwyn that had to make sure he got up in the mornings, made his tea and breakfast before wishing him well.  She wasn't shocked when she came home from the hospital to find him lying dead on the floor of the nursery, blood splattering the wall.  She wasn't sure if it was the family resolve or detachment that kept her going through the third funeral in such a small span of time.  A widow at the age of 27, people were going to talk. Nan made sure to let her know that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

"Sometimes, I swear," Nan said one evening after work, only a few months after George took his own life, "You and your father are mirror images of one another."

Gwyn glanced up from her letter, brow furrowing, "Whatever do you mean, Miss Loy?"

The elderly women picked up her cross stitch and gave a slight shrug, "You haven't stopped working.  Pulling even more hours at the hospital just like your father did when your poor mother passed, God bless her soul."

She couldn't help but feel her cheeks tinge with pride.  Her back instantly sat up a little straighter as she went back to her writing.  "I'm a Tibbot after all.  It's in our nature to be resilient, Miss Loy."

"Oh, yes indeed."  She nodded, "They should bottle your resolve and sell it on the market.  Or at least to those bloody meaters in parliament.  Maybe then we'll see some real change around here!  Oh, one could only hope, my dear.  One can only hope."

Her own smile was very slight, a small twitch in the left corner of her mouth.  "Yes, Miss Loy, one can only hope."

Gwyn wished that there was a way to bottle her father's spirit.  But, she was certain, that even a hundred and one cases of the elixir wouldn't have been able to help her father.

It wasn't noticeable at first to anyone besides Gwyneth.  A missed appointment here, misplaced objects there.  "It comes with old age,"  Dr. Cusack assured her, "He isn't as spry as he used to be."

But she was certain it was something more than that.  Lucius was always a punctual man - never late for an appointment by his very nature. At first, Gwyn tried to believe that it was just the old age. She was never an overtly religious woman, but at the beginning, she prayed - albeit very quickly - that it stopped there.  Over time, it spread out into other matters.  No matter how alarming it was, no matter how much it picked up in it's speed, she simply told herself, "He's old.  This is what happens when you get older."

Almost half a year after the symptoms first started, his memory was declining at an alarmingly fast rate.  It wasn't until he lost the ability to control his movements did Gwyn finally bring up retirement.  The devastated look on her father's face as he sat in his study at the hospital was enough to break her heart.  His eyes reddened and glossed over, looking down at the spilled ink covering his desk as Gwyn tried to clean it up.  Tried to hide that he wasn't able to be the doctor he knew he could be, the doctor he used to be.  Gwyn didn't look at him, didn't want him to see her own tears that were threatening to fall. 

There was a very soft agreement, barely above a whisper. 

He retired on an unusually warm March morning.

 


End file.
